


Dark Times

by kurokun



Category: Bleach
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, One Shot, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-29 02:37:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12072834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurokun/pseuds/kurokun
Summary: Inspired by Dark Times by The Weeknd ft. Ed Sheeran, this is a story of bad dreams and better days.





	Dark Times

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my friends, this is just an old thing I wanted to post for you guys real quick since I love you and I suck as updating my long running fics. It's my first and only songfic so please leave me some reviews and give me some honest feedback. It helps me grow!
> 
> Stay lovely you guys.

**_Waking up, half past five._ **

My eyes shoot open as I lurch out of bed, my bare skin hot even in the cool fall air that drifts from the window. I'm sweating, and terrified, and I don't know why. It isn't particularly out of the ordinary, but I still can't get used to it. When I look at the clock, it's early in the morning, like usual. He still hasn't been around.

Then again, he's never around.

**_Blood on pillow, one bruised eye._ **

Trying to ignore the withering feeling in my chest, I flop back down, my muscles stretching as I let my arms fall to either side. I feel something wet on the back of my right one. When I pull it to my face, there's a dark stain on the skin, spread like a thick brush stroke. I can smell the iron in it. I look to the pillow beside me and see similar dark drops marring the white fabric. I hear a hissing from the bathroom down the hall. 

Pulling on a pair of gray sweats, I move as quietly as possible towards the soft sound, turning the corner and seeing the one shitty bulb over the sink flickering on. Even now, his hearing is like a cats, and he turns to me. I barely recognize him. Not because he's been beaten so badly, lip split open and left eye swollen almost shut beneath purple welts. It's his eyes, they way they glaze over me like a lost man seeing passing strangers in a foreign city where they aren't watching much of anything. 

**_Drunk too much, you know what I'm like._ **

“You're drunk,” I say softly, realizing it doesn't even make me angry anymore. He turns away and reaches for the antiseptic, but stumbles to the left, unable to hold himself up. I'm there immediately coaxing him to sit on the toilet and stay still. He finally acquiesces and I go to work. I soak a gauze pad in isopropyl alcohol and press it to a gash on his cheekbone, feeling my nerves vibrate like piano strings as he groans. I clean up all the bloody spots I can find, putting steri-strips on the worst cuts to keep him from bleeding more. It numbs my mind to care for him this way, and a small part of me thanks my father for forcing me to work nights and summers in the clinic. I look at him again.

**_But you should have seen the other guy._ **

It's now that I start to really see how much blood is on him. I lift his shirt with gentle fingers, looking for a knife wound or a bullet hole. His torso is bruised, one area looking so purple I wonder if the ribs below are cracked, but its intact. I look up at him.

“This can't be all from you.”

“Nah,” he grunts in that deep voice he has that makes him sound apathetic to everything. He rolls his neck around, looking at me like I'm a portrait on exhibit.

“You must have kicked the shit out of him,” I say as I stand, walking out of the room and hearing him follow me.

“He wasn't moving when I left,” I hear over my shoulder. I actually manage to feel a little concerned, raising an eyebrow.

“Did you kill ‘im?”

“I ‘on know. Might've.”

His words should bother me.  _ Frighten _ me.

**_This ain't the right time for you to fall in love with me._ **

But it doesn't. He doesn't scare me at all. The only thought that crosses my mind is that if he killed him we might need to move again, and that would be an incredible hassle. Really I should be crying, backing away, being some over dramatic queen about it. But I just sigh, walking into the kitchen and pulling out a faded dishcloth to put ice in. I wrap it up and hand it over, motioning to his purple eye he wouldn't be looking at me with even if he could see through it. As he takes it he touches my hand a little too long and something starts in my chest. 

I thought it was dead before now.

**_Baby, I'm just being honest._ **

“When was the last time you were home?”

“I ‘on know.”

He turns away again, and I watch the muscles in his back flex as he shifts the ice on his cheek. I don't remember either. It's been weeks since we shared the bed for a whole night. When this all first started, I could tell you how many times his heart beats while he sleeps. Now, I couldn't even tell you how many scars he has, or exactly what time he starts to wake, or how many times he's broken or dislocated one of his knuckles. Truth is, I don't know anything about him anymore.

**_And I know my lies could not make you believe._ **

“Are you mad,” he asks, glancing at me like he doesn't much care either way, but more than anything is just curious. I shrug, not really sure what I feel. More than that, I don't know what I  _ should _ feel. Am I supposed to be angry? Am I supposed to call it quits? Kick him out, tell him I can't do it anymore? None of those things are instinctual, but I bet if I asked Ruk or Shinji they'd tell me to leave his ass again. He looks at the ground.

“I'm sorry, you know.”

We both know it's not the truth, just a formality. I nod anyway.

**_We're running in circles, that's why._ **

We know because we've been here before, walked the same broken glass path that we're currently on for months now, and even though our reactions have changed, the dance itself is still the same. The way we love each other, or at least the way it's become, is like the seasons. It might be clear, rainy, warm, cold, no matter what it's just weather. And it will all happen again, given enough time. 

I've given him so much time. Two years, I think. His seasons haven't ever really changed.

**_In my dark times, I'll be going back to the street._ **

If I really try to remember, I can see him the first time we met. I was with Renji at some shit bar, getting plastered out of my mind. Then there was yelling, and I saw two men fighting. I ran over and, in my reckless youth, grabbed the arm of the man closest to me and pulled him away from the other, who was clearly getting the worst of it. He turned on me, snarling like some rabid animal, and was about to pummel my face in just the same until he looked at me. He really,  _ really  _ looked, and I don't think anyone has seen me so thoroughly since. He wrote his number on my palm and walked out into the night, into some awful neighborhood.

It should have been a sign.

**_Promising everything I do not need._ **

Next I saw him, I was walking home from Urahara Shōten around the corner. I slunk into an alley and pulled out a blunt I got from someone, taking a minute to draw in. Just then, he ran at what looked like light speed into the mouth of the alley. He was looking around for what I presumed was a place to hide from whatever demon was on his tail when he saw me. I took off my beanie and pulled it over his ridiculous blue hair before dragging him further into the shadow and kissing him like a lost lover. Two men ran past, ignoring the both of us. I had thought I'd go into cardiac arrest as he pulled away and grinned at me, panting. 

He told me his name and I thought there could be no name as beautiful as his. I took him home. It was the best sex of my life.

**_In my dark times, baby this is all I could be._ **

He told me about all his shit. Run ins with cops and yakuza alike, scars that would heal and a few that wouldn't. He told me he was tired, that he didn't want to run around any more. We moved into a studio in Shibuya with only one working faucet and bad wiring that wouldn't charge our phones, and it was the best place I had ever been. I thought I could help him.

I thought I could fix him.

**_And only my mother can love me for me._ **

I told my friends we were together. They told me I was crazy. I tried to take him out to meet them, and he got in a screaming match with Renji. He would have hit him if I hadn't begged him to leave with me. We went home and argued, then fucked. He said he was sorry, said he'd try to be better, but the others never really approved after that. I was the only one who saw him for a man and not a beast.

**_In my dark times, in my dark times._ **

A few months later, he lost his job at the garage for getting in a shoving match with the owner, Kenpachi. He told me he felt useless. He started drinking more, staying out later, but when I called he would pick up. And eventually, even if it was dawn, he would come home. I started having the night terrors again, and he saw it one of the few nights he was home before 2AM. He held me so tightly, telling me nothing would hurt me. They were dreams and in that moment he was so real I thought I might be okay. 

Three weeks later, I threw a lamp at him and he shattered a picture frame and he left for nine days straight. And now, we're in the kitchen of our third place because I've had to skip out from shadows and creditors alike.

“Hey,” he says, turning towards me.

“What?”

“You're thinking about something,” he says, and for a moment I think he actually wants to know. I push off of the counter and stalk towards the window that leads to the fire escape. 

“It's nothing.”

**_Light one up, let me bum a smoke._ **

I light a cigarette, dragging hard as he comes out behind me. It tingles in my lungs and I look at the stick. I used to smoke regulars, but he would only take menthol. Even though I don't see him half the time, I never switched back. He places a tentative hand on my side and I give it to him before lighting another for myself. We breathe in and out in time, like the two ends of a bellows coming together.

“You were thinking about something,” he repeats, tilting his head back to watch the cancer swirl together.

“I was just thinking about when we met, that's all,” I admit grudgingly, knowing it's a sign of weakness. He looks at me from the side with what might be surprise.

“It was at _Soju's,_ wasn't it?”

Now it's my turn to be surprised. He puts his hand on my side a little less tentatively.

“You didn't think I'd forget, did you?”

**_Still coming down, dripping throat._ **

The thing that I thought was dead moves again, making it hard to breathe. I avoid his eyes like I don't feel anything and shrug.

“I wrote my number on your hand like we were in some stupid fuckin’ movie,” he chuckles, and the thing flips again. I can't do this. I step away from his hand.

“It was so long ago,” I mumble, still milking the cigarette dry even though it's short enough to burn my fingers. My throat tightens and I make the mistake of glancing at him from the side. He gives me that old, sorrowful look of his that he always pulled out when I was disappointed with him. It makes him look younger. His eyes meet mine and he steps forward.

“Just-” he starts, whispering along my neck, closing in, “can you just pretend you still love me, for tonight? Like you used to.”

I look at him hard.

I crumble under his cracked lips.

**_I've got another man's blood on my clothes._ **

He presses against me and laces his bruised fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck, and I'm falling. I'm frozen at first, meditating on his words and wondering if I'm weak for wanting to do just what he asked of me.

I shouldn't have to wonder, but I do.

But then he moves his hips and it's like a dream that I had so long ago that I can't remember, but I want to. When he was little, he jumped down several flights of stairs while running from something, and it pushed his leg too high into the socket. The unevenness causes him to walk a bit off, something he doesn't even notice anymore, and makes him adjust his hips because he can't stand one way for too long. 

I hate myself for remembering that.

I pull away and feel my shirt stick to my chest, and I think it's because I'm sweating from the adrenalin of him, but it's not. He really did have a lot of blood on him, enough that it stained me too.

**_But it ain't his fault, it's the life I chose._ **

He looks at me from his slight vantage point and I see something shift in his eyes, just like his hips do when there's too much tension in his joints. He glances down at the rusty transfer on my chest and, although it might be in my head, I think I hear a snapping sound. It must of been in my head, because I know he's been broken since forever and a week ago.

After all, that's how we got here, isn't it? Because he was broken, and I thought the glue of what I felt might have been enough to fix him again, but his pieces just kept falling away from each other. Maybe it's because the broken wasteland is familiar, like that one faded, threadbare shirt with a million holes that doesn't fit right anymore you can't stand to throw out.

**_This ain't the right time for you to fall in love with me, but baby I'm just being honest._ **

I kiss him back anyway, ignoring my better self as it screams at me from increasing distance. He growls slightly as I touch his split lip with my teeth and backs me against the railing. We're both getting feverish when there's a knock at the door, and we both freeze. 

“Goddammit,” he hisses at me, but I've done this before. I pull off my bloody shirt and hand it to him before motioning to the ladder.

“Another time. Go,” I say with more indifference than necessary. Then I walk inside, grabbing a T-shirt from the hamper as I pass by.

**_And I know my lies could never make you believe, running in circles, that's why…_ **

I leave the chain on as I pull the door open, letting my exhaustion show in my face. The officer looks at me more than he does, but not that much, which is a good sign.

“Evening,” he drawls, “sorry to bother you.”

“How can I help you, sir?”

He rattles out the normal lines, that a suspect of theirs had been in a physical altercation and this was his last known address, from quite some time ago. I tell him the standard lies, that I moved in here alone a few months ago, which is correct according to the lease agreement. We always made sure that he signed first then “skipped out”, and I would sign after like an entirely new tenant. 

I shouldn't know how simple and effective that is.

I tell the officer I'm not sure who the last tenant was but that he must have been in some trouble, and I hope they're able to catch him. He sighs and gives me a tired smile before leaving. They always believe me.

**_In my dark times, I'll be going back to these streets, promising everything I don't need._ **

I go back inside, leaning my back against the front door. I'm starting to get too old for this. I feel a cold in my bones that no amount of sun could alleviate. I walk over to the back wall to close the window to the fire escape, and I’m about to when I hear a moan from the old ladder caused by weight, not wind. I know those sounds now. I have to, really.

**_In my dark times, baby this is all I could be._ **

I wait until he pulls himself back up to the landing. He can only glance at me before his eyes are drawn to his hands and the little flecks of black paint mixed with rust that cover his palms. His shoulders sag and I feel the thing crawl up to my throat a little. He rubs at the spots over and over, watching the minerals disintegrate into dark red stains across his skin. He starts to move frantically, almost like a child. It hurts to see him this way. 

**_Only my mother could love me for me, in my dark times._ **

I walk over and place my hands over his, moving them to his sides so I can come closer. I wrap my arms behind his head and pull until I feel his quick, short breaths puffing against my shirt. If I was paying better attention, I might have felt the slight warm dampness of a tear, but I’m too preoccupied. I have to be, because he had never cried before and if he did now I wasn’t sure what that would make me do. As it is, I don’t want to do anything besides give him exactly what he wants: a night where I love him just like I used to. 

**_In my dark times I’ve still got some problems, I know._ **

He stands straight and wraps his arms around me, kissing my temple before pulling back and staring into my eyes.

“What,” I ask, the discomfort starting to creep in between our intimacy again. 

“You’ve been having the dreams again?” It's a question and a statement. The disappointment hits me deeper than I would have imagined after all this time, and I answer him a little sharper than I wanted too.

“No, not again. They never stopped. You just weren’t here anymore.”

I say sharp because he winces a little as the words come out of my mouth, trying to hide it beneath a growl. But he can’t disguise the way his throat tightens up afterwards.

**_Driving too fast but just moving too slow._ **

“I needed you here.”

It’s all the way out of my mouth before I realize what I’m saying. He turns his eyes back to me and almost looks hopeful. 

“I can be here, again,” he says, and he sounds like he means it. That’s the thing I hate the most about him.

“Grimm,” I sigh, “it’s not that easy-”

“But it was that easy,” he snaps at me, desperate. He hasn’t raised his voice to me that way in a long time. I just stare, but he won’t be swayed. He takes one of my hands in his and guides it to his neck, pressing it against his pulse. He then puts his arms back round my waist, resting his chin on my head. I feel his blood rushing beneath the surface, heart flying like it has only a handful of times before.

**_And I've got something I’ve been trying to let go of._ **

“It was this easy, remember Ichi? Just focusing on my heartbeat, and matching it to yours. It used to calm you down and then you’d go back to sleep. Remember,” he pleads in my ear, voice a little strained. 

I can’t take this. I’ve been trying for months to tell myself that it was okay, that I could let go, that I would be fine doing bad all by myself. I was right; I really didn’t need him. I could get by and be alright alone. But what I can’t do is turn him away when I think that maybe he actually needs me. I pull his face away a little to see into his wide blue eyes.

**_Pulling me back every time…_ **

“If I matched my heartbeat to your right now I’d probably go into cardiac arrest,  _ baka _ .” I say it with a smile, a real one, one that I haven’t let him see in ages, and it’s so immediately worth it. He swoops me up and I taste that split lip again, metallic and warm. He holds me so tight that only my toes brush the ground and I struggle to breathe. He’s laughing, actually  _ happy, _ and suddenly I’m okay. No I’m more than okay; I’m amazing. I’m a meteor shower and a waterfall and a message in a bottle. He’s the ocean and the sky and the sapphires buried deep in the earth. I am nothing, next him and his smile. My god, he’s really smiling. He’s beautiful, and he’s mine. At least tonight.

**_In my dark times._ **

I guide him to the bedroom and he wraps himself around me like a cat, warm and almost purring if I listened close. Usually we would fuck after he’s been gone so long and weared me down, but he doesn’t try to touch me. All he does is make sure his chest is pressed firm to my back and I feel the heavy drum of his heart rattle up my spine, right into my memories. I cry and he rolls me over to face him and I say  _ everything. _ Most of all, I say that I missed him. He kisses my face and my neck and my hair and tells me I’m all he’s ever wanted and that he’ll never deserve me, but he’s going to try. He whispers softly in my ear, flowing through English and Japanese and French with a gentle sureness. I don’t remember whether the sweet nothings stopped or I fell asleep first, but I remember that I didn’t have a night terror for two months after. 

That’s all I can ask for. 


End file.
